Decision
by CrackedMetal
Summary: Short one-shot about how I would have preferred the Christmas scene at Sherlock's parents home to go in 3x03: "His Last Vow". John isn't quite as forgiving towards the woman who shot his best friend. Platonic Johnlock.


**Disclaimer: I own no rights whatsoever to Sherlock or its characters. **

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**Decision**

As soon as John entered the room the atmosphere shifted. Mary looked down, unable to meet the eyes that would surely tell her, before any words could leave his lips, about the decision he'd made.

John looked down also, licking his lips and absentmindedly replying to Mr. Holmes' awkward attempt to escape the suffocating tension that his presence had brought. Upon hearing the door close behind the older man, John finally looked up, at his wife.

They had been apart for months and the weight of his impending decision showed clearly on her face. Circular bruises darkened her eyes, skin far paler than the last time they shared a living space. His heart constricted and for a moment he felt the need to rush to her and make sure her well being was intact, but as soon as the impulse hit him he looked away, clenching a fist at his side before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the small memory stick that had been in his possession since her interrogation at Baker Street.

"So," he finally spoke, feeling her eyes upon him now and looking back up to meet her, unafraid and stoic. "Are you okay?" The faintest intonation of concern laced his question but his face did not portray even a hint of emotion.

"Oh, are we doing conversation today? It really is Christmas." Her snark was met with stony silence and the moment the words left her, she wished she could grab them back, knowing she had no right to be on the defensive.

She swallowed thickly and dared not move as his right hand shifted, toying with something that caught the light, something familiar and that she recognised immediately as it glinted slightly in the light of the fire. His gaze dropped to his hand as it rose to his waist, making sure all attention was focused on the stick that held information he could barely fathom.

"Now?" Her voice trembles slightly though she tries her hardest to covey strength and indifference, as if she still held some control over the situation, which they both knew, she did not.

Once again his mouth denied her a vocal response, only a nod to reply. "Seriously? Months of silence and we're going to do this, now?" Silence. "Have you read it?"

He seems to freeze at the question, hand becoming still in a fist, hiding the stick from her gaze. Something in his eyes change, any uncertainty that was left a moment ago had fled and though she had been an expert in reading him only such a short time ago, she found herself confused and fearful, no idea what to expect.

He beckons her. "Would you come here for a moment?"

He isn't hesitant. His expression doesn't change. The fear climbs her throat.

"N-no. Tell me. Have you?"

Now his eyebrows furrow and eyes darken in anger. His voice is harder when he next speaks. "Just come here." This time it is a captain, giving an order and expecting it to be obeyed. She swallows a final time and finally stands, a hand resting in support over her swollen stomach. She sees him lean toward her just slightly, as if to offer her help up as her obvious state of pregnancy is hindering the speed in her movements. But his feet never leave his spot as he reels himself back in at the last second. The more she watches his actions, the more she fears the coming conversation.

After she reaches the spot in front of him he indicated there is a pause. He meets her eyes head on as he begins to speak. "I've thought long and hard about what I want to say to you. I've chosen these words with care." His breath is absolutely steady, while hers rattles and sticks in her throat.

She nods. "Okay."

"The problems of the past are your business, no one elses. So no, I didn't read it as it's not anyone's right to. So…" He doesn't finish the thought, instead turning to the fireplace and throwing her whole history into the flames. They watched for a moment as it melted against the wood.

She couldn't stop the smile that began to form on her lips, tears almost glazing her eyes from the swell of hope within her.

"That being said," her chest seized and her smile faded. "… I can handle people lying to me Mary, I really can. God knows, I've had enough practice. If all this was, was your past we wouldn't have a problem because people change, but you've brought this into the present; by not coming to us for help you put all of us, including our baby, in danger." His eyes flicked to her belly, something akin to regret in his eyes and the last of her hope was ripped from her.

"Please, John I-"

This time he didn't let her finish and his voice rose and became hard and cold. "Even with that. Even with _all_ that, I could have moved past it, _we_ could have moved past it. But Mary," he looked up from the spot on the floor his eyes had drifted to and now his gaze was open and terrifying. Rage burned in his irises and his jaw twitched under the skin. "The moment you decided to raise a gun against that man, that insane, smart, irritating, stubborn, amazing… _broken _man, my _best friend… _The moment that happened you were the one who called the end to this relationship."

She stared in shock, not having fully expected what had come out of his mouth. "But Sherlock," she argued, "he explained, he said that I saved-"

"I don't care _what _that moron said. He would say anything if he thought it would make me happy, make my decision easier. Didn't you listen to his toast at our _wedding,_" he spat the word like it was poison, stepping back a few steps, eyes still narrowed and fixed on her, watching as hers faltered and looked down to her hands. "He thinks he's the worst choice, thinks he's unworthy and dangerous and he would do anything, _anything, _if he thought he could save me from that and give me the life he thinks I deserve, the life he _thinks _I want." He paused, took a deep breath in and for the first time his voice broke on his next words. "You _killed _him Mary. He was dead. Again. And that is something I can never forgive you for."

There was a long silence then and Mary swallowed. A question burned within her, one that she had been wondering from the time they met and one that she needed to be answered.

"Are you in love with him?"

The response she got surprised her. John's lips turned up in a condescending half smile, no humour behind it. He turned on the spot, let out a huff of unamused laughter and raised a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose before spinning again, so quick that she blinked and leaned away, though he was now halfway across the room.

"Would that make this easier? Is that the only way this would make sense to you?" She didn't respond, knowing doing so would only incur his wrath. "No Mary, I'm not in love with him… But I do love him, and I always will and the moment _anyone _tries to hurt him, no matter what they mean to me, they will find themselves on my very very worst side." From anyone else, she thought, that would sound like an empty threat but from him it made her throat dry and the air rush from her lungs. "Maybe that's not something anyone will understand but that man... he will _always_ come first."

She watched in stunned silence as he grabbed the coat he had dropped at some point and pulled it over his arms, shrugging it into position and heading to the door. He turned just before he reached for the handle, looking her in the eyes once more.

"I may not be in love with him, but he's my soul mate and I _will _spend the rest of my life with him. Even if that means I'll never have a relationship or family in the common sense. He's my family Mary, and that's all I need." For the first time he showed hesitation and he glanced down at her stomach. "I want to be there for my child and if I have to, I'll fight you for her. She doesn't deserve to suffer because of this."

With that he pulled the door open. She jumped in place, but noticed John didn't so much as flinch as the open door revealed a tall figure, frozen in place with an arm half raised towards the door, blank look in his eye and mouth agape. John didn't look at the other man or acknowledge his presence, merely stood by his side of the door and looked over at Mary, clearly giving her leave to go.

She shakily walked forward, still in shock and reeling from what had just happened. She stopped before walking past him, and spoke; tears kept at bay but were told in the tremble in her voice. "You won't have to fight me for her." Their baby needed both her parents and she knew this was one thing she could, and would, do properly.

John nodded. "Thank you."

She nodded back and then shifted, glancing at Sherlock; tall and unmoving. She sucked in a breath-

"Say nothing." Another order it was obvious she would do well not to disobey. Her jaw snapped shut and she lowered her eyes and moved from the room. She didn't belong in this place anymore and she knew that it was one hundred percent her own fault.

John breathed in and out a few times, collecting himself before looking up at the man he had chosen. He knew he made the right choice at the stupefied look on Sherlock's face, eyes glazed with incomprehension and a suspicious amount of liquid pooling there. Though shaky and unsure, John grinned up at his friend and, frankly, the love of his life. He knew most people wouldn't understand, knew he had fated himself to a lifetime of labels and judgement. The difference now was, he no longer cared. He had almost lost Sherlock one too many times and would protect the man in front of him with his last breath, if necessary.

"Sherlock?" Amusement laced his tone, recognising the look of complete befuddlement from when he had asked the man to be his best friend.

The detective's eyes finally snapped to him, though his back stayed impossibly straight and still. "John." He paused, swallowing erratically and working his mouth open and closed a few times. Finally he breathed through his nose and spoke, staring at John with wonderment in his eyes. "Time for tea."

John shook his head and laughter barked out of him. "Great, good. Let's go then." He pushed past his statuesque friend only for his name to be called after a few steps. He half turned to see Sherlock had turned as well to face him, tension gone from his posture and face softer than he had perhaps ever seen it. "What you did," his hand waved behind him, "in there, what you said. That was…" The genius floundered for a moment and John found himself experiencing rather strong deja-vu, expect this time, thankfully, there was no gun in sight. "It was… good. Good of you."

John couldn't help but smile as he thought he was probably one of the only ones to ever see the man flounder so in-eloquently, and perhaps the literal only one to see it on multiple occasions now. He found himself unable to stop himself from teasing the vulnerable man in front of him.

His mouth widened in a huge grin, as it hadn't in years since before the detectives "death", and winked at the brunet. "You're welcome William." He turned, not waiting for a response and ducked into the kitchen.

Sherlock's mouth dropped again at hearing his true first name. The shock lasted only a second this time before his face scrunched into a scowl, hands into fists and he stomped loudly towards the room he knew the rest of his family resided.

"For god sake mother! I told you not to tell him that!"

But through his shout he couldn't stop the tiniest of smiles curling at the side of his lips.


End file.
